


Confession

by tomioneer



Series: JayTim Week 2016 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: M/M, New 52, and it annoys the hell out of him, teenagers flirting with grown men, the Outlaws are the voices inside Jason's head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7671634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomioneer/pseuds/tomioneer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been too long since they saw one another. He’s not counting days, but when he sees Tim on the roof that night, knowing he’s been called here for a reason and Tim may have been the one to do it, for one half-minute his heart is full.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Day Two of JayTim Week 2016, taking place a few months after Day One
> 
> This was one of those stories that just kept getting longer.

There’s something about Tim that makes it hard to stay away. It’s not that he’s a hottie; Jason’s accustomed to being around attractive people, and if were just that he’d probably have been perfectly happy to stay on the island with Roy and Kori forever, maybe go out and kick some ass when he was feeling restless. He’s not Dick, but redheads are not a bad thing in his book. Not by any means. On any given day he could probably just ask to join in and be perfectly, happily welcomed--but he can’t get blue eyes bruised with sleepless nights and pink lips bitten raw in distraction out of his head. He doesn’t want red hair and easy smiles, he wants sullen, hyper-focused, egomaniacal Tim Drake.

It’s been too long since they saw one another. He’s not counting days, but when he sees Tim on the roof that night, knowing he’s been called here for a reason and Tim may have been the one to do it, for one half-minute his heart is full.

Then Dick ruins everything. Nothing new there. What’s new is Damian’s challenge, though his absurd need to prove himself to a father who will never be impressed by anyone other than Dick Grayson (the best and original Robin) is hardly a surprise. Everyone else comes up short in Bruce’s book, even _Red Robin_ , supergenius and strong and serious as Bruce has ever been. Tim saw that and he got out; no point living for someone who will never fully acknowledge your efforts. They’re of use, both of them, all three of the later Robins. But they’re not Dick. _Nightwing_. They’re not perfect because they don’t swallow Bruce’s rhetoric like fucking ambrosia.

By the time Dick leaves the roof, apparently understanding more of what’s happening than anyone else, he’s sitting on a massive, badly dented HVAC and chewing an energy bar out of his jacket pocket. Tim side-eyes him and meanders over, so he holds out the bar. Tim doesn’t take it from his hand as expected; he curls his fingers around Jason’s wrist and holds his arm steady, then bends and slides his mouth over the end.

Their eyes are locked the whole time, Tim’s lenses flipped up and Jason’s Hood sitting next to him. One drawn-out, breathless moment later Tim bites cleanly through, straightens and smiles around his mouthful. It’s just a Clif bar, granola and peanut butter--there’s no reason to look so delighted, so satisfied, unless Tim’s outright thrilled by Jason’s uncontrollably stunned reaction. And--fuck’s sake, he’s a kid, sixteen or something. No way should he know enough about anything to pull Jason’s focus like that, to know what he’s doing and make a move so blatant it hurts.

“Yum,” Tim says like he knows _exactly_ what images are dancing in Jason’s head. Then he smiles wide, teeth white and sharp. “Thanks, Red.”

“There’s more if you want it,” comes out before he can think better of it, and Tim’s eyes flash in the second before he decides to let himself laugh.

“That’s a loaded offer.”

“That’s a dangerous comment, Red. The places I could go from there...” He shakes his head, shoves the rest of the bar in his mouth and chews so he can’t screw this up any more. It’s been a weird night, and a weird week, and honestly Jason just wants something _normal_. A normal conversation with Red, a normal patrol without being summoned by his kid supposed-brother. Between them, the two youngest members of the Elite Robins Club have apparently decided he doesn’t get that. Not here, not tonight.

Not in Gotham. Nothing can ever be normal in Gotham; maybe that’s why Jason liked Tim’s B.O.O. in Manhattan so much. Still chewing, he throws an arm out and hooks a few fingers on Tim’s arm, pulling him closer, almost between his legs. Tim just flows with it, turning to face Jason, leaning against the unit he’s perched on and watching his face with big, dark eyes.

“I missed you, you know,” he says after a moment, voice soft and mild. Jason feels like the peanut butter is gluing his mouth shut, but there wasn’t enough in that bite and a half to do so. It’s something else, nerves or just the desperate desire to hear what his successor might say next. A few seconds pass before Tim’s eyes slide away, down right. “Talking to you is easier than dealing with people my age. They’re so self-absorbed.”

Jason chokes and laughs into one hand, the manners drilled deeply into him by Alfred as a boy still stubbornly hanging around. Swallowing hard, he clears his throat. “Babybird,” he says, and Tim’s eyes slide back to his face real fuckin’ fast, “Babybird, you are the _definition_ of self-absorbed, are you sure you’re not projecting?”

Tim whacks his shoulder once, the blow solid and something of a relief. This is more normal--but nope, no, it’s not, because Tim doesn’t usually slide his hand up to cup Jason’s neck and tuck his head under Jason’s chin. Before he can make a sound, Tim mutters under his breath, tense and angry. “That fucking kid thinks he can get away with anything. He makes me sick, Red. He’ll come after us? He’ll take trophies? Sounds like a serial killer to me. I guess Boss hasn’t beaten the bloodthirst out of him yet.”

Clueless hands resting on his knees, Jason lightly says, “Well it never worked for me.”

“That’s different.” Tim says this with so much confidence, so much assurance, it takes Jason a few seconds to remember Tim was never around when Jason was Robin, and he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about. Still, he sets his chin more firmly on Tim’s crown, crushing hair already flat from the rain. They are both as waterlogged as they can get in their suits, Jason is sure. They could take this inside; he knows Tim has safe houses in the city just like he does. But if they do that, who’s to say what might happen? Tim’s in an odd mood, and Jason just has to be grateful for his hard-won discipline; the sight of his replacement all but going down on that energy bar is still playing on loop in the back of his head. “You weren’t like him. You were brutal, but he’s murderous.”

“You just don’t like him,” Jason accuses, more than half-expecting Tim to draw back at that. He doesn’t. Instead his other hand slides under Jason’s coat, fingers splayed over his floating ribs. It’s intimate, but not invasive. Tim’s not pushing for anything right now, then. That’s good. “You... refuse to give him a chance. Why?”

“Because he’s an unrepentant sadist,” Tim promptly answers. “He tried to kill me.”

“So have I, Little Red.”

Again, Tim replies, “That’s different.”

The words clog Jason’s throat, demands of how and why echoing in his mind like a cavern. What Tim is thinking touching him like this, Jason doesn't know. Acting so comfortable with him when he’s just as bad and dangerous as Damian. Why does Tim care about him, miss _him_ , when he’s not even trying to stop killing? The kid, at least, has put in the effort. But Jason? No. No, he hasn’t, he doesn’t and won’t. In Gotham, he plays by the Bat’s rules, but on his missions, to further _his_ goals? It’s not in the cards and he’s _panicking_ with Tim leaning on his chest, arms almost around him. Suffocating.

Roy would be laughing his ass off over this, and the realization helps a little. He manages, “Why?”

“You, I trust,” Tim says softly. “You, I understand more. You had reasons and were focused where he’s just wild. And you... you’re actually important to me. Which loops back around to ‘I missed you’. Where were you?”

“Where was I?” He stalls because no way is he telling Tim about the Untitled, the Island, or Crux. That lattermost he’ll learn of soon enough on his own, anyway, and he already knows too much of the All-Caste for Jason's comfort. The last thing he wants is Essence catching wind of Jason's affection for this guy and deciding he knows too many of the ancient secrets. “Away, Babybird. Living it up, you know how it is.”

“Do I?”

Tentatively Jason slips a hand under Tim’s cape, presses his palm just under his left scapula. Nudging his face down a little further so his mouth is in Tim’s wet hair, he pauses to breathe. There’s an unexpected bite of mint when he inhales, sharp and cold. Shampoo? How unprofessional, using scented shampoo before a patrol. It doesn’t match what he knows about Tim at all, and Jason likes that the same way he likes Tim pressing into him, waist between his thighs. Warm, small, and stubbornly close. “You should. You have to know I do whatever I can to stay away. I hate Gotham.”

Jason’s voice is thick when he says it, low and torn. It feels like ripping open a healing wound, saying those words, because this is his city and home. He loves her, he loves her people, her lights and views, her wind and weather. But it’s true he hates _being_ here. In his arms, Tim shudders from something other than the rain. “I _hate_ it.”

“But you keep coming back.” It’s a desperate mumble against his collar, and Jason’s hands flex on his knee and Tim’s back because--yes. He does. Jason can’t stay away from the city any more than he can Tim. It’s too much a part of him, something Jason can never get out or cleanse himself of. This city is a wound in him, torn open every so often and prodded when he gets too bored. Not a healthy habit. “I love it. I love Gotham. I hate being away when there’s so much to do here, so many people who need help. But I can't stay, because there are kids out there who need someone looking out for them.”

“You’re pulled back, too,” Jason rumbles, and Tim nods under his chin.

“I like... being needed. I can't let go of this place, the buildings, clouds, art, and noise,” he admits slowly. “And Red, this city needs us. All of us. That’s... part of why I have such a hard time with the brat. He spends so much time thinking about Robin and Batman, the technical parts of the job, and doesn’t understand the spirit of it.”

“What, heroism?” Jason asks, then chuckles. “I can’t say I’m the right guy to talk to about that shit, Red.”

“You are,” Tim asserts, once more calm and certain. Drawing back, cold air rushing between their chests, Tim lifts his hand from Jason’s rib to his heart, pressing into the bat. “You’re definitely a hero, even if you don’t see it. You’re one of us. You're still Robin. I can tell.”

“That’s--”

Dumb. Trite. Sweet. Impossible. All Jason wants, and the last thing he thinks would be good for him. Like the urge to kiss Tim, pull him back against Jason’s chest. The rain’s starting to let up, and waiting it out together sounds really good. Just another few minutes together; it’s been _so long_...

Instead he laughs and pushes Tim back, hand against his shoulder. When Tim’s an arm’s length away, Jason’s nape feels cold. He shivers, the skin along his arms and down his back pimpling under his suit. Grabbing the Hood, Jason hops back to the roof, gravel grinding under his boots, and ruffles Tim’s wet, minty hair.

“Think you can take the squirt when he comes after you, Red?” he asks, hand dropping to Tim’s shoulder and giving a squeeze. Not a subtle change of subject, but Tim allows it, a smirk gracing his imperfect lips. Just to see that smirk split into a grin, he pushes, “Don’t need a bodyguard?”

“Now that wouldn’t be fair to him.” Tim crosses his arms and yes, there’s the smile, big and unforgettable. Jason’s moving before he notices, famous control gone, and Kori would be all for this but Roy would know, this is not good, this is too much. “It would be fun to gang up on him, but it’s hard enough to imagine him beating you without cheating some--R-Red?”

Jason’s fingers finish trailing from the corner of Tim’s mouth to the bow of his lower lip. His lips are visibly chapped, broken in a few places and even cut towards the far side. They’re so imperfect, and still all Jason can think to do for a moment in lean in and steal a taste. This was not a conscious gesture; he did not mean to raise his hand from Tim’s shoulder and stroke it across his mouth, but now he has it’s hard to reorder his thoughts.

Tim’s staring, because of course he is, eyes darting over Jason’s face in that way he has. Stepping back, Jason turns and pulls on the Hood, tossing a wave over his shoulder as he nears the edge of the roof. “See ya, Red.”


End file.
